Confessions of a Bad Boy Gamer

by Cathryn Fox

  Oh, God, what a mess.

  As fight-or-flight instincts kick in, my old friend Sean Collins, whose family own this bar, walks by.

  “Sean,” I say quickly.

  He turns to me and a smile lights his face. “Rae, how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  We exchange a hug and I put my arm through his. “I’m in a hurry, will you walk me out?”

  “Sure,” he says, and I try to focus as he speaks to me, but I’m so caught up in my sister, and Nate, that it’s hard to concentrate. I pull my hat down lower on my head as he opens the door for me. “Let’s catch up soon,” he says as I hurry down the street, not back to work but home, where I can sort through my feelings. Facing Nate at the office after seeing him with Saralynn is the last thing I want.

  By the time I reach home, my phone is pinging, and I pull it from my pocket to see a dozen messages from Saralynn, asking me what’s going on.

  Wasn’t feeling well, I text back. Taking a sick day. Sorry.

  Sean said you were in a hurry to get out of the pub. I didn’t realize you were here.

  Yeah, sorry, going to lie down now.

  I’ll come over.

  No, really, I’m okay.

  I really want to talk to you. I have a new man in my life. It’s serious.

  Oh, God.

  Congrats, can’t wait to hear more when I’m better.

  Not.

  I power down my phone and toss it onto my counter, then grab a bottle of wine. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right? With shaky hands, I pour a huge glass of chardonnay and make my way to my bedroom. If I’m going to take a mental health day, I don’t plan to do it in my work clothes. As tears pool in my eyes, I peel off my skirt and blouse and slide into a T-shirt and boy-short pajama bottoms.

  Wine in hand, I walk to the living room, plunk down on the sofa and grab the remote. Heartache sets my chest on fire as I flick the TV on to see two men beating the crap out of each other on Jerry Springer.

  I finish the wine, grab another glass, and flick through the channels, wondering how I’ll ever face Nate again after finding him kissing my sister.

  Thank God Sean came along.

  Wait! Sean instantly knew it was me. How did he know the difference between Saralynn and me? Then again, those who knew us well could always see the small differences.

  Did Nate know me that well?

  My mind goes back to the night in his hotel room, and I think about the things we said, as well as the things we didn’t. Like who I really was—and that’s when it occurs to me.

  “Oh. My. God,” I say out loud, then glance over my shoulder, even though I’m alone and no one can hear me talking to myself. Damn, maybe I really am a nut job. But who can blame me for talking to myself? Not after I just realized that not once had Nate called me Saralynn that first night.

  He had to have known. He had to.

  But why were he and Saralynn kissing?

  Oh, God, I am so damn confused.

  A loud knock on my door has me jumping to my feet, and I spill my wine. “Dammit.” I set the glass down and shake my hand. Who the hell would be at my door in the middle of a workday?

  I swing open the door to tell whoever is on the other side to go away, because I need to find Nate, and we need to talk.

  But when I come face to face with the man I’m in love with, my heart nearly stops.

  “Nate,” I say, suddenly breathless.

  “Rae,” he returns. “I’ve been meaning to give you this.” He hands out my blouse, the buttons now intact. “I told you I’d replace it.”

  I take the blouse, my pulse jumping in my throat. “Did you know all along?” I ask, wondering where we go from here.

  Leaning in, he drops a soft kiss onto my mouth, and I melt into him. “That first day in Pat’s Pub, when you kissed me and I said I’d waited my whole life for this, I wasn’t kidding. I had waited my whole life for you. I’m in love with you, Rae.”

  “You…are?” I choke out around a throat gone tight.

  He loves me!

  “Of course I am. How could I not be? You’re everything a guy could want.”

  “You really knew it was me?” I ask, needing to hear it again. “Never once thought I was Saralynn?”

  “From the second you entered Pat’s, I knew it was you. I told you, I like nice.”

  He runs his fingers along my arm and goose bumps form. “I thought nice was boring.”

  A deep laugh rumbles in his throat. “Boring. You’re anything but.”

  Something niggles in the back of my mind, something that doesn’t make sense. “But you were hugging Saralynn.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I swallow. At least he’s not trying to deny it. Then again, he said he’d always be honest with me. If that’s the case, why didn’t he tell me he knew it was me all along?

  “Your sister was being chased down the street, ran into the pub, and straight up to me. Isn’t that a total Saralynn thing to do?”

  Heat moves into my face. “Yeah, when it happened to me, I kept thinking what would Saralynn do.”

  He cups my chin. “That’s what you saw, nothing more.”

  “She texted and said she had a new man in her life. I thought…”

  “It’s not me. It never was.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

  “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready, and I went along with it that first night because it seemed like it was something you needed to do.”

  “Just once I wanted to be my sister, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “What I think is, I’m crazy about you, and I want it all, Rae. The house, the kids, the dog. I even want you to sing in the shower every day.” She gives me an evil look at the reminder of her horrible voice, and I laugh. “Tell me you want that, too.”

  “That’s an awful lot to want.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to let me think on all that,” I says and his face drops. Worry lingers in his eyes.

  “Rae,” he says, and reaches for me.

  “I can’t, Nate.”

  “Rae, please…”

  I shake my head. “The singing is a deal breaker.”

  “But I love your singing.” He touches my hair, run the strands between those deft fingers of his, fingers I love having on my body. “I love every sound you make.” I roll my eyes at him. “It’s true.” He pulls in a deep breath. “Rae,” he begins again. “Tell me you want those things.”

  “Remember when you said you wanted to tie me to your bed and keep me there?”

  His body goes tight at the reminder. “How could I ever forget that?”

  I give him a mischievous grin. “How about I make some other sounds you love, and I’ll give you my answer then.”

  A smile lights up his handsome face. “Yeah, right now?”

  “Yes.” I put my hand on his chest, feel his strong heartbeat. “Then it’s a date.”

  He angles his head. “A date, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  He grins at me. “Which number?”

  I run my hand over his chest and splay my fingers. “Before I answer, can you tell me what happens on the tenth date?”

  He gathers me into his arms, and kicks the door shut behind him. “Everything happens on the tenth date, Rae. Everything.”

  I put my lips to his ear and whisper, “Then ten it is.”

  Afterword

  Thank You!

  * * *

  Thank you so much for reading, Confessions of a Bad Boy Gamer. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it. Please keep reading for an excerpt of Confessions of a Bad Boy Professor.

  * * *

  Interested in leaving a review? Please do! Reviews help readers connect with books that work for them. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative.

  * * *

  Happy Reading,
<
br />   Cathryn

  Confessions of a Bad Boy Professor

  Justin

  * * *

  Another weekend. Another party.

  I need to give this shit up.

  I swirl the amber liquid in my glass and glance around the bar to take in the group of loud girls partying around me. I try to find the one I’d just danced for in a private party room off the main bar. I’m not really sure why I’m looking for her. She’s just another girl in a sea of women I dance for once in a while.

  My gaze lands on her, sitting at the other end of the bar, uncomfortable, nervous and so goddamn beautiful my dick swells.

  Okay, maybe I do know why I’m looking for her. I’ve been doing this gig for a long fucking time, and none of the girls I danced for were ever like her. The guys and I started dancing at parties to for cash when we were in college, and well, maybe my reasons had more to do with rebellion than money. The business flourished and spread to other states, and even though none of us need the money, we now dance when we have to fill in, or for kicks. But I’m tired of flying around, putting on a mask and shaking my cock in some drunk girl’s face. But this girl, well, she’s been nursing a drink for the last hour, and doesn’t seem at all like the kind who would enjoy a half naked guy shaking his junk at her.

  I catch her gaze, and hold it for a minute. She quickly turns away and my cock swells at her shyness. Shit. She’s way too young and innocent for me. I have no idea what her story is or why her friends would hire me to dance for her twenty-first birthday, and I should leave it at that. If I knew what would good for me, I would.

  But, fuck it. I rarely go with what’s good for me, which is why I’m sitting on a goddamn bar stool in Virginia sipping on a scotch when I should be back at Penn State, grading papers. I’m bored with that job, too. But dear old dad is the dean, and while I had different career aspirations, both he and mom pushed me into education—hence my rebellious stage.

  I swallow the rest of the liquid, let it burn its way down my throat. I don’t normally stay for a drink after a gig, but tonight, I don’t know, there’s something about the birthday girl that’s throwing me off. I pick up the backpack at my feet, the one stuffed with my dance clothes and mask, a necessity for me now. I’m a fucking psych professor, for Christ’s sakes. Ever hear of a code of conduct? Yeah, well, I’m violating every rule I promised to uphold.

  I really need to give this shit up.

  I toss the bag over one shoulder and stand. The heat in the room, as well as the mixed scent of alcohol and perfume, washes over me. I’m anxious to get the hell out of here. Looks like the recipient of my dance is, too.

  I push through the lively crowd, and slide in beside her at the bar. Her body goes stiff, and shit, I’m pretty sure I’d do anything to help her relax.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She nibbles her bottom lip. Sexy as hell.

  Fuck me.

  I shift, and lean on the bar so she can’t see my swelling cock.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Not really your scene, is it?”

  She crinkles her nose. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yeah, a little bit.” I take a glance around. “Want to get out of here? Walk the beach?”

  Her back stiffens, and her chest juts out, her lovely nipples pressing against the silk of her blouse. “I don’t even know you.”

  It’s true. She doesn’t. I was in costume when I danced for her, so no way can she know I’m the guy her friends hired to shake it in her face. I take in her wide blue eyes. So fucking innocent she’s killing me.

  Desperate to put her at ease, I shrug. “I don’t know you either. How do I know once we’re outside you won’t try to get me out of my clothes and have your way with me?”

  She smiles, and it rocks my fucking world. “I really could use some fresh air...”

  I pick up on her hesitation. “Pass me your phone.”

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Breaking all kinds of rules tonight, that’s what I’m fucking doing.

  “Why do you want my phone?” she asks as she slides it across the sticky bar top.

  I hold it up, and take a selfie. “There, now you have my picture. If I try anything you don’t like, you’ll have my mug shot for the police.”

  She looks at me like I’m a bit insane. Maybe I am, because I should really leave this alone. She reaches for her purse, and I say, “Do you need to tell a friend?”

  Her gaze flickers to the dance floor, but none of her friends are paying any attention to her. Girls are supposed to look out for one another when partying—come together and go together. But it doesn’t look like she’s made that pact with any of these drunk party girls. She frowns, a hint of loneliness ghosting her eyes, and my heart squeezes. At least she’s in good hands with me. She’s sweet and innocent and I don’t—okay I do, but won’t—want anything more from her than a conversation.

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” she says.

  “Wait.” I pull out my phone and take a picture of her. “There, now if you try anything I don’t like, I’ll have your mug shot.”

  She blinks, surprised and I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her out the door. The night air is warm, sticky, but it’s a break from the heat and bodies inside. I breathe deeply as the waves laps against the sand in the distance.

  “I’m Justin, by the way.”

  “Violet.”

  Pretty, just like her.

  The music becomes faint as we remove our shoes and step onto the sand. She exhales and runs the warm grains between her painted toes. Painted toes. Fuck, that’s sexy, too.

  Don’t go there, dude.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  Her long curls bounce around her face and she purses her pouty, heart-shaped mouth as her big blue eyes meet mine. “You can ask, but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

  Beautiful and funny.

  A dangerous combination.

  She doesn’t know I’m the guy who danced for her, so I need to word my question carefully. “What were you doing at the bar? It doesn’t seem like it’s your kind of scene.”

  “It’s not really. I work with those girls. We’re not close, so I guess that’s how they thought I should celebrate my twenty-first birthday.”

  “I’ve only known you for five minutes and I would never throw you a party like that.”

  “No? Then what would you do?” she asks.

  I take in her skirt, the sleeveless silk blouse she has tucked into the hem, and say, “Quiet dinner, walk on the beach.”

  “You can tell all that from looking at me.”

  “Gut feeling.” I’m not about to tell her I’m a psychology professor and study behavior and mind. Her behavior tonight told me everything I needed to know. She’s a good girl, and I need to stay away.

  She arches a brow. “You’re pretty intuitive.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Shit. I hadn’t meant to say that. Fucking just slipped out. I don’t want her to think I’m coming on to her. She turns from me, and looks at the water. I’m pretty sure she’s about to run the other way. I’m a stranger, eight years older than her, and I’m probably coming off like a stalker.

  “Race you to the water,” she says, and takes off. “Last one there has to go skinny dipping.”

  Skinny dipping?

  I stand still for a moment, processing that as her skirt flies around her backside and she darts to the waves. She’s not the kind of girl to go skinny-dipping, of that I’m certain. My brain kicks in and I chase after her. When I catch her, she’s laughing and breathless.

  Jesus fuck, the sound goes straight through me, and zaps what little control I seem to have around her. I touch her face, my thumb sweeping across her cheek. Her laugh dies and her eyes go wide as they latch onto mine.

  “Violet.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really want to kiss you.”

  A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

  I step into her,
meshing my hardness with her softness. Sweet fuck, my cock grows another inch, and she gives a little gasp when she feels it. “Sorry,” I say, but somehow I’m not. I actually want her to know she’s beautiful, see what she does to me. I dip my head, and softly, lightly brush my lips over hers, not wanting to hurry the moment I might never have again.

  A moan escapes her throat and I slide my hand to the back of her neck as I increase the pressure. I push my tongue in and we tangle. I catch the taste of the syrupy drink she’d been nursing, but it’s not nearly as sweet as her. I close my eyes, savor, enjoy, drown in her flowery scent and taste. I’m only half aware as her hands snake around my back, her questing fingers splaying, touching, exploring my body.

  I want to do the same.

  Using slow movements so as not to scare her, I sweep my hands lower, run my fingers along her vertebrae until I’m at the small of her back. The sweet curve of her ass calls out to me. I dare to go lower and cup her roundness, and massage lightly as I pull her against my cock.

  A sound lodges in her throat as she breaks from the kiss. I pull my hands away, and take in the flush on her cheeks as wide eyes stare up at me. Okay, now I’ve gone to far. She’s going to run.

  “You lost,” she says on a breathless whisper.

  Her words are a jumbled mess in my lust-filled brain. “Lost?”

  “The race.”

  It only takes a second for my thoughts to catch up. Holy fuck. Is she serious?

  Here I thought she was going to bolt, only for her to be staring at me, waiting for me to shed my clothes.

  Fine, I’ll play it her way. For now.

  About Cathryn Fox

  About Cathryn Fox

  * * *

  New York Times and USA today Bestselling author, Cathryn is a wife, mom, sister, daughter, and friend. She loves dogs, sunny weather, anything chocolate (she never says no to a brownie) pizza and red wine. She has two teenagers who keep her busy with their never ending activities, and a husband who is convinced he can turn her into a mixed martial arts fan. Cathryn can never find balance in her life, is always trying to find time to go to the gym, can never keep up with emails, Facebook or Twitter and tries to write page-turning books that her readers will love.